Alleyway
by bleak reality
Summary: What if Tank hadn't rescued Trinity and Neo from the TV repair shop?


I've never done dedications before, but I will now. Thankyou Hardliners! From the initial AU idea to how to style this, I'm really grateful for all the comments and help. ^_^

"You never did answer me before, if you bought into Morpheus' bullshit."

Plastic creaks as the pressure you applied is released.

"Come on. All I want is a little yes or no."

You stare at the floor. Stare blankly at those two abandoned pawns, the two limp rag dolls. The white doll collapsed so close to the brown, one arm flung over his back.

"Look into his eyes."

Do you dare to turn to him? Go on, do it. Lift your eyes from the cheap linoleum and meet his gaze. See him. See the dust from crushed cement greying his black hair and his black suit. See the light in his eyes as he stares at you, terrified.

"Those big pretty eyes."

He doesn't flinch, doesn't look away from you. Perhaps he can feel the hand at the back of his neck, feel the breath on his cheek like a traitor's kiss.

"And tell me. Yes?"

Can you believe in blind faith? Can you let go of your hold on the world and accept there is another soul who will catch you when you fall?

Can you believe that what you feel matters?

"Or no?"

Is there nothing more to life than survival? Is there nothing more for you than existing one day to the next, gripping whatever reality is so tight it threatens to tear?

Does what is in your heart matter nothing?

Or . . .

He doesn't look away. He waits, for what he doesn't know, but he waits there like an animal ready to run for his life.

What's your answer?

Whisper it. Whisper it so softly that he cannot hear you and can only read the shape of your mouth.

"Yes."

A sound, a rush and a bolt of lightening. Who's voice is that screaming? Yours or someone else's?

Plastic creaks as you apply pressure, squeezing the cell in your hand hard enough to leave imprints in skin. Listen.

Words come through the phone. The voice is cracked and weak, struggling.

"Trinity, I'm sorry. But I can't make it back to the desk."

"Tank?"

"He killed Dozer. He shot me."

"But - "

"Trinity, I'm sorry. You'll make it somehow. You always do."

"No - "

"I'm sorry . . . "

Clench your eyes shut, the better to listen. "Tank?"

But there's silence now. No whisper of breath. No creak of weight shifting on metal.

He takes a step forward. You drop the phone.

"What happened?"

"Tank killed Cypher. They're all dead now."

It seems like he would move toward you. He raises one hand as if to reach for you. But he knows you're beyond him. Turn your shoulder; don't let him see your face.

Blink. Focus your eyes on something so you don't slide away. The blank TV screens. The shafts of light with dust motes dancing. Tiny details like cracks in the lino, footprints of mice in the dirt. The cell phone on the floor. Hair falls in your eyes. There's nothing in this room now.

You wonder why you cannot move. You wonder why you cannot feel. You wonder why it is the sound of his voice that startles you, and not the tread of police outside. You wonder why his hand on your arm, the contact of skin, makes you flinch as if at a gunshot.

"Trinity, we have to get out of here."

Breathe in. The secret in running is how you breathe.

"Now," brown eyes, earnest and urgent and close to you.

"Out the back way - " It's the movement that wakes you, fear dissolving the shock. Lead him through the office, through a boarded up window and back out into the street. No one knows the City like you.

Morning sunlight is harsh to pale eyes. Where did your shades go? Back at the hotel.

He's behind you, shrugging out of his jacket. His suit looks all the more formal in contrast to the piles of cardboard boxes, and the rotting paper and mildewed wood hiding blind windows.

"Keep up."

"Where are we going?"

"The Chat. We need to find help." Turn a corner onto the main street, check left and right for the bad guys. Like crossing the road. "All clear." Make sure he's with you. You can't lose him. Not now. Not after everything.

In this part of town, no one gives your leathers a second glance. Except that girl over there in the velvet, who looks you up and down before grinning. Ignore her, right now she's no threat. Stay alert for that sound, that flicker in the world that hails the enemy.

"Keep up Neo."

Scan the shop signs around you, looking for that bar no one ever leaves. Try not to make your hesitation obvious when you reach the next corner. You've only been here once before. Don't you dare let him know you're lost.

"Do we go down this way?" he asks, jacket held awkwardly in one hand. Over his shoulder you see the velvet girl walking toward you. Oddly, all you think is - it's early for that kind of work.

"Yeah, we turn here."

The sight of him wiping moisture off his lip and letting it glisten on his hand - keep alert, keep your eyes sharp and your ears pricked and keep focussed. Sharp light; sun glancing off broken glass on the ground. Steps behind you; the clip of the velvet girl's heels. Move faster.

Search for the irregularity of wood in brick; the back door to the Chat. The alley is full of dark grey and dark brown and shadows that weren't there a moment ago. Clouds obscure the sun.

"They can't have traced us?" his voice, quiet and scared still.

Don't answer yet. Don't answer until you can be sure of what the answer is. That's your way, to stay silent until it's just the right moment.

"Trinity?"

Damn his questions and innocent eyes. You brush his sleeve as you round another corner, into a darker and narrower alley. An alley you definitely don't remember.

"I don't know."

Stop. Blank wall. Dead end.

"Shit." Silence.

Turn around. All this in a split second;

The girl stands there, head at an angle, smile lurking on her face.

There's nothing but a knife at your belt.

Trapped.

That sound.

Velvet warps into a brown suit and a smile into a sneer.

Another instant and you might have the wit to move.

Lightening fast, the Agent pulls something out from beneath his jacket.

The Desert Eagle screams. Once.

Breathe. Remember to breathe. See him look down slowly and press his fingers to his stomach. They come away red.

Again. You are staring as his head lifts, and he backs away from the Agent, trying to turn his hands into fists.

Again. You hear the collision of flesh against the wall, you hear his breathing louder and louder as bullet after bullet is sown.

You wonder why you cannot move. You wonder why you only stare at the man on his knees when the Desert Eagle screams at you. You wonder why you do not feel the blood until you see it on your hand as you reach for him.

"It seems to be a day for celebrities."

Don't turn around. As you sink to the pavement beside him keep your eyes on his.

"And like him, you too will die. The insider did fail, but not before fatally wounding your operator."

He looks at you like he did before, without flinching, without breaking your gaze. Brown eyes. Terrified and helpless.

"As you die here, the man who calls himself Morpheus is being flown to our, _conference_ room."

Pull yourself closer to him, fumble as you take his hand in yours. Blood mixes.

"If you're lucky, you'll die before the sentinels find you. I've heard tell that they can cause severe . . . _pain_."

His fingers knot with yours.

"They've been taken care of."

The words sound distant, aimed at someone other than you. But you don't listen anyway; the footsteps now receding are not nearly as important as these brown eyes, this warm skin.

"Trinity." Dust in his hair, smudged dirt on his cheek. A shaky inward breath that you then echo with an inhalation of your own.

"Neo, there's something you need to know."

He tilts his head, gives you a crooked smile. He raises his hand, unsteadily. His fingers brush your hair aside, clearing your eyes. Blood streaks.

"The Oracle told me . . . "

"Shh." A slow blink. His hand falls. "I'm not afraid any more." The smile slips and you see the pain that makes his eyes shine, catching the light in a way you've never seen. But he doesn't break this peace around you. He leans closer, and you shift to wrap an arm around him.

Breathing, loud and harsh. This doesn't seem his style. He should go down in a blaze of glory, not in the quiet of an alley. Not with your arm around his shoulders and his blood spilling over your leathers. You wonder why you focus on his hand where it lies, palm skyward, under yours. You wonder why it is the useless detail of a scar at the base of his thumb that catches your attention.

A scar where a lit match brushed with skin. As a child, he tried to catch fire.

"Neo."

No answer. Silence. When you try and shift, he slips and falls across your lap.

His eyes are shut, his mouth relaxed and lips parted. His head tilts back, and all you can see is the glow the grey sunlight gives to his skin.

"No. You can't be dead."

Do you hear that sound? The cry of a raven above you. 

"You can't be. She told me the man I loved would be the One."

Cradle his head in your hands. Ignore the slow burn of pain running through you.

"You can't be dead. Because you're the One."

Feel his black hair against your hands. It's soft like feathers.

"Do you hear me Neo?" Curl around him, lift him up just a little further. "I love you." And with the last strength you have, dip your head and kiss him.

Taste of metal. Sound of a bird. Warmth of air on your neck as you hold him close to you like a child.

"Trinity?"

Movement. Arms wrapping around you and the slickness of blood on skin. Your blood. 

"Neo."

He untangles himself yet keeps his arm around your waist, lifting you to your feet. Try to focus, try to see his eyes clearly. They're shining brighter now, and reflecting green.

"Neo, you have to get out - "

He threads fingers through your hair and silences you with another kiss. Not hard but not gentle, not fast but not slow, not real but still undeniably _him_. Against all your rules you let your eyes drift shut. The rich flavour of blood. Dizziness and falling, plummeting from a height you never realised you'd climbed. You let go of your hold on the world.

And when you hit the bottom you're on the ship, opening your eyes to cold blue light and memory that slams into you like a truck into a phone booth.

Every crew mate dead and a captain to save. The One.

Metal rasps as you slide out your own jack. 

"Neo?"

He hasn't moved, his eyes are still shut. You hobble to the operator's desk, stooping to pick up the headset from near . . . Tank.

"Neo what in hell are you doing?"

"Getting Morpheus."

Carefully you ease into the seat. "You need anything?"

"Ten minutes."

"What about guns?"

"Why?"

You stop. He's got a point there. Your eyes lift to where he lies, still, silent and relaxed. Like he lay in your arms before.

"I'll see you in ten, Trin."

You believe in him. Beyond reason, beyond logic. You love him.

"Alright."


End file.
